


A Few Shades Darker

by LinneanSpora314



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Deception, Extremis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pyramids, Spoilers, canon-divergence, lie of the land, post-oxygen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneanSpora314/pseuds/LinneanSpora314
Summary: He pulled out his beloved guitar. Turning his face towards the sun-kissed warmth radiating through the window, he began to strum his song.Though he could no longer see them, he could still feel the rigid metallic strings pressing back against his thumb, carrying sound waves back and forth from peak to trough.All of Time and Space it seems, he still had at his very fingertips.****Chapters****1. Strings2. Smells3. Steps4. Shapes5. Songs6. Saviour (or,How episode 7 might have unfolded instead...)7. See no evil





	1. Strings

“That’s it, is that better?” Said Nardole, hopefully.

The Doctor rolled his unseeing eyes left and right, he could feel the warmth radiating from Nardole’s probe, and if he blinked really hard, he could perceive a few blurry specks of red… then it dawned on him, oh _of puppy dogs and crustaceans, the treatment didn’t work_.

Then an overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety swept over him. _I can’t see, I still can’t see, will I never behold the birth of a star again, will I never see that beautiful, ethereal Tardis blue again…_ Luckily, his brain was of course as ever, far, far, ahead of his emotions, and already it had worked out a strategy of ingenious deception and self-denial. 

_Bill can’t find out about this, she mustn’t, or else she will suffer from this very human problem of perpetual guilt for the rest of her relatively short human existence._

“Ah so… we’re back in the Tardis, when did that happen!” said the Doctor, standing up resolutely, and cocking his head toward the other voices assembled around him. 

He moved swiftly around to the other side, navigating the controls with perfect practised dexterity, every once in a while though, he had to touch the edge of the console to check his bearings. Not that anyone noticed.

Every time he redecorated the Tardis, he had had to negotiate with her. Please please can I keep the buttons. She would vent fury and he would plead with her, and in the end, she always gave up and granted him his wish for snazzy buttons. Buttons and knobs that were completely useless and unnecessary of course… for all he had to do was invoke their psychological bond and tell her exactly where (or indeed when) to go next. 

But for some reason pressing down on the little red green purple things and fumbling the creaky knobs was weirdly comforting and therapeutic. 

This time, gently, and with no thoughts of admonishment, she helped him out with his deception; after all, the coordinates he had actually input would have taken them all the way to the gaping hollows of Alpha Möebius in the Darkest Age in less time than it takes to say “Geronimo”…

******* 

And no it’s not just buttons, mechanical things that whirrrrllll are also soothing. There he sat with his boots on the desk, working out the angular velocity of the yo-yo, when the Tardis warned him of Bill’s imminent arrival.

Hastily he fumbled in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets for his shades, and gingerly put them on just before the familiar smell of Bill announced itself in the room. He hoped he exuded cool on the outside, though both his hearts were beating vigorously and almost as fast as his yo-yo was spinning around its axis…

He heard himself explaining the rise and fall of capitalism. 

As she strutted nonchalantly around the room, he did his best to cover her trajectory, which he found that he could so do by simply estimating the vibration frequencies of the air molecules in the room. In a bid to calm his nerves, his fidgety fingers set about winding down the string round and round his yo-yo. 

He breathed a sign of relief when she finally left, and slumped forward in his chair. For a brief moment, he was left alone in the eternal darkness that stretched before him. An expanse of space, that threatened to consume him. 

He never really did understand Space. How can it be simultaneously so expansive, so liberating, and yet so suffocating in its infinity. He thought of the time he managed to convince a half-way drunk Milton to read him his poetry: “ _When I consider how my light is spent; ere half my days in this dark world and wide…_ ”

******* 

Bill had bounded three steps back down the stairs before a strange thought struck her. Something wasn’t quite right. Those shades: just last week he had promised to throw them away after she had remarked that the frame made his nose look rather _twiggy_. That silly huggable vain man, though he tries desperately not to show it…

So why was he wearing them again? She felt a little pang of worry, and begun retracing her steps back towards his office.

When the breeze filtered through in the right direction she could hear the voices inside. Nardole’s to be precise. Gosh he sounded a little agitated, angry even, wonder what that’s about. She hesitated on the precipice, and pressed her ear up to the door.

She was still there ‘most an hour later. Her back against the icy stone wall and knees drawn up close to her body, stifling her tears, hair matted with salt.

******* 

When he finally managed to convince Nardole that he was quite alright and was not in urgent need of yet another cup of coffee-infused tea, the Doctor was left alone once more to his own devices in a room in which now lingered anger and pity, in equal measure. 

He pulled out his beloved guitar. Turning his face towards the sun-kissed warmth radiating through the window, he began to strum his song. 

Though he could no longer see them, he could still feel the rigid metallic strings pressing back against his thumb, carrying sound waves back and forth from peak to trough. All of Time and Space it seems, he still had at his very fingertips.

The Tardis waited patiently for the echoes of the last notes to die down, before humming in his ear to let him know that Bill was still outside his door. 

_That’s my Bill, chips-server extraordinaire, and first-class not-a-student in Quantum-Organic Matter Astrophysics, ... and his dear friend._

_Now there was a life worth saving if ever I saw one._

He smiles knowingly to himself, and strums another note. 

A bit louder this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on a whim after last night's shocking episode. I do hope they will continue to explore Bill's relationship with a much more vulnerable Doctor. Contains major spoilers for episode 5:Oxygen.


	2. Smells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He rummaged around his drawer for his sonic, pulled on his shades, and stepped gingerly outside his office for the first time in thirteen days and twelve nights.
> 
> _Who needs a seeing eye dog when you’ve got a screwdriver that emits perfectly tuned surround waves at harmonic frequencies!_
> 
> He smiled gleefully to himself, reflecting upon his own, unfathomable genius.

Whenever he needed the space to think he would actually lock himself up in the Tardis for hours (or at least, what felt like hours to long-suffering loyal folk who answered to the name of Nardole…). In the interior of that magnificent blue creature was a comfort like no other, an aroma like none he had ever encountered before, or hence.

The aroma of _nothingness_ , nothing at all — is a reassuring nothingness that increased in intensity as he tread softly toward the console. No lingering molecules in the air to remind him of his mother’s home baking, no scent of roses that would by any other name evoke memories of companions lost, no diffusion of perfumes and pheromones from another time and another space where he… still had the tenderness of rain and River by his side.

_How desperately he needed her warm embrace right now._

He hasn’t been outside much since that fateful day when the world as he knew it had imploded. 

For one thing, too much exposure to direct sunlight now made his eyes tingle painfully and fill with tears. He’s even had to turn his desk away from the window, lest Nardole should come in unexpectedly one day to find him hurriedly wiping away a stray tear.

Inside the familiar expanse of Tardis was the only space where he could still roam freely, relying on her gentle guidance to navigate up and down the spiralling staircases and around every nook and cranny… only, with his shins and his pride, both a little more bruised than he’d have liked.

And if the days have been hard, the nights have hardly been kinder. With each passing day of his self-imprisonment he grew more restless and more _bored._

He even tried sleeping, as a form of escapism. He had heard blue cheeses could induce vivid dreams. But for the ancient Timelord, dreams came only in fitful, nauseating, deluges. There was no sequence, no storyline, no narrative, only intercalating visions of fire and Daleks, and no sense of the passage of time. Once in a while, he would recognise a face among the crowd, but in his dreams he could never save them… _he never could save them._

It was as though night and day had been interchanged. Eyes closed, he could conjure up the faces, the visions, gaze into ephemeral vortices, and then he would wake with his eyes wide open and in vain, having been dragged back into the encroaching darkness, in which no lights were radiating from flames.

He knew that she knew of course. 

The whole sorry tale he had had Nardole tell her about going away somewhere to deliver a lecture series on Spatiotemporal Crop Rotation… as if she could believe such feeble fabrication. But he was thankful that she had let him be.

_Thanks Bill._

He murmured to himself, a gratitude voiced in his customary Scottish slur.

But today… he concluded, felt a little better. 

He rummaged around his drawer for his sonic, pulled on his shades, and stepped gingerly outside his office for the first time in thirteen days and twelve nights.

_Who needs a seeing eye dog when you’ve got a screwdriver that emits perfectly tuned surround waves at harmonic frequencies!_

He smiled gleefully to himself, reflecting upon his own, unfathomable genius.

********

He was about to get a prickly smacking from a low-hanging branch when Bill brushed it casually aside for him. Briefly, he pondered how long she might have been following him.

“Ah. Trees.” He muttered, “Never did like them, far too…woody!” 

Then he added helpfully as an afterthought: “See Bill, ‘cos the Sonic doesn’t really do wood very well, it’s not really designed for woo…”

“Shhhhhhhh.” Said Bill.

“May I?”, she asked, calmly taking hold of his hand. “Did you hear that, what is that? it’s beautiful…”

“Probably just a leaf warbler…” Said the Doctor.

They walked on a little further, one carefully keeping half a step in front of the other. 

********

They sat for some time in the shade by the gurgling fountain, talking. To the west, the sloping campus walls loomed into the distance. She, was reeling off a list of undesirable virtues of her new roommate, while he, would proffer an occasional sardonic remark.

In all those days of solitude he had really missed her laugh. _When you’re confused about something, other people frown, but not you, *you*, smile!_

__He wished he could see that smile again._ _

__“Ah…., I loooove that smell!” Said Bill, leaping up from the bench. Clasping the Doctor’s right hand in her own, she guided it gently once more up to her shoulder: “C’mon Doctor, over there, those purple wisteria are absolutely drippin’ off the walls…”_ _

__He found himself following obediently in her wake._ _

__His eyes were starting to water again, and he couldn’t be sure if it was still the sunlight._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist the temptation of bringing this scenario to life...
> 
> (The idea of using the sonic as a wave guide is based loosely on the phenomenon of "echolocation" in such animals as bats.)


	3. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But at nightfall when out of habit he glanced out of the window at where he had calculated the moon ought to be, and the shades had duly informed his that his object of interest was, “ _a satellite of Sol-III_ ”, “ _age 4.53 billion yrs_ ”, “surface temperature 125 degrees Celsius”, he was more than a little perturbed. 
> 
> Is this the marker of things to come, a world in which he would no longer be able to appreciate the ephemeral beauty of another world, nor the nuances amidst the multidimensional colours, a reality in which the subtleties of the physical world had to be thus relegated to a soulless, abstract concept.

Had River still been here she would have tried to be his therapist, not just his friend, confidante and lover too of course. She would have no doubt tried to get him to open up slowly about his inevitable frustrations over his sudden loss of sight — and reminisce at length about all the pleasurable sights he had once beheld, some of the best ones with her no less… all this to be consigned to an ever more painful memory.

Today the Doctor was feeling unlike his usual self, so much so that he actually wanted a cup of tea, and yet more surprisingly, felt an unstoppable urge to make one for himself, rather than have the ever badass Nardole fix one up for him.

So it was that he found himself gingerly treading the corridor and all the way to the back of the kitchen. He opened several containers in quick succession and sniffed their contents with not a little suspicion. He surmised (correctly) that at least one of them would contain tea. 

Soon the whiff of Bergamot was diffusing satisfyingly through the air — for it really had plenty of time to diffuse, given the number of sugars the Doctor was adding to his steaming cup. Sure enough, the countertop was soon covered with unnecessary sugar granules; truly, the Doctor was never that proficient at understanding what kind of a mess he was making. 

Beneath the uncharacteristic tea-getting act was really a disguise. A disguise for how groggy and helpless he was feeling this morning. He had tinkered skilfully with his sonic shades so that they could now be psychically linked to his brain, recording the analogue world outside for him and relaying it back in digital. On the one hand this filled him with a little hope and optimism that had been sorely lacking in recent days, that perhaps he could “see” the world again, or at least some simplified version of it…

But at nightfall when out of habit he glanced of the window at where he had calculated the moon ought to be, and the shades had duly informed his that his object of interest was, “ _a satellite of Sol-III_ ”, “ _age 4.53 billion yrs_ ”, “surface temperature 125 degrees Celsius”, he was more than a little perturbed. 

Is this the marker of things to come, a world in which he would no longer be able to appreciate the ephemeral beauty of another world, nor the nuances amidst the multidimensional colours, a reality in which the subtleties of the physical world had to be thus relegated to a soulless, abstract concept.

And then the next day the cluster headaches started, and by dinnertime it was excruciating. Oh well, probably better off without the shades then.

His phone rang for the fourteenth time that morning. He knew from the ringtone it was UNIT (Nardole had surreptitiously reprogrammed all the speed-dial numbers on his phone so that he could instantly deduce who was calling without having to coerce some temperamental text-to-speech software into compliance).

At their seventeenth try, which coincided with the whirl of a helicopter on the rooftop, he finally answered the call. Turns out they needed urgent assistance with a collapsed wind-tunnel in the lab, some sticky situation requiring a skilled diplomat and an accomplished engineer. Well of course, the Doctor would be two for the price of one, by UNIT’s impeccable reasoning. 

He was about to decline with yet another freshly concocted excuse, when he heard Bill’s voice on the rooftop, “C’mon Doctor, get up here! I have a pilates class to go to after this!”

And so the Doctor found himself on the balcony, squinting through his shades at the dizzying strobing lines that he surmised were the rotating blades of the copter. 

Surrounded by gun-wielding UNIT men, Bill was discretely watching out for the Doctor from at least an arms length away — knowing better than to actually offer him assistance or give him any inkling that she might after all, still be quite worried about whether he was up to another task like this one. 

Still, she thought to herself, he needed to be out of the house and given problems to solve, otherwise his brain and ancient limbs would both rust away, and that would be a shame for the Universe.

********

The wind tunnel was some remarkable feat of engineering, sloping ingeniously from one end of the hall to the other, spiralling upwards into the ceiling. The North-West section alone had represented the sleepless nights of a dozen scientists over five years. A fresh coat of fire-proof varnish adorned all the wooden supports. Right now though, it was in a somewhat sorry state, gigantic bolts that were at least half-a-meter in size, snuck haphazardly out of the brilliant red structure.

“Ah, these just needed a little taming!” Said the Doctor, and set to work gleefully repairing the disconnected junctions, and tugging on the seemingly boundary-less rolls of waylaid cabling. 

When Bill offered him her hand while climbing up those impossibly narrow and winding steps he actually took it without a moment’s hesitation. Together they ascended to the very top of tunnel mouth, and that was when she left him tinkering away listlessly with the buttons, turning her own attention instead to the Lady Boffin in the while lab coat who was changing the cooling fluid nearby.

How could she ever have doubted him! 

It wasn’t too long before he was being congratulated for successfully preventing another technology-related international incident, and she was already berating him for having turned down UNIT’s reward of scone and teacakes without even consulting her first.

********

Back in his office, the Doctor sat with his boots resting on top of a hardbound copy of “How to Master your senses for Dummies”. The headaches were percolating up the left side again, soon snaking across his temporal lobe. Signing, he took off his specs and carefully folded them up in this inside pocket. 

He rubbed his forehead, hoping to relieve some of the strain. He just needed a little rest, and maybe some of that steaming cuppa Bill had placed on his desk moments ago. _Peppermint this time_ , he sipped suspiciously…

Guessing the flavour was always the best part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written and posted with haste -- apologies for any typos!
> 
> Pretending Extremis hasn't happened yet.


	4. Shapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re the conduit Ethan, for the sounds and voices you hear, it’s them, it’s the songs of those beautiful, forgotten, ancient civilisations down there, observing and admiring the ways of Earth through your eyes. 
> 
> You know, they always have to choose a child, because a Child’s vision is still so pure, so unadulterated…and not yet shaped nor poisoned by beliefs…”
> 
> “Everything, ” Said the Doctor, with a tinge of nostalgia in his tone: “ …is exactly as it _looks_.”

The world, according to Ethan, is a very different place. The images projected continuously beyond his perfectly formed irises through the soft lenses of his eyes are as focused, as colourful, and as inverted as they should be. But with every vision, every colour, and every shape, came the shrill discomfort of sound. 

A temporal mismatch of jarring amplitudes and frequencies. And the more he tried to block out the noises and the louder and more unbearable they became, driving him deeper and deeper into a solitary, lonely existence. 

The last time he had accidentally found himself standing in the middle of the shopping centre, barely hanging on to a world that revolved ruthlessly around him, it felt as if there was a droning saxophone in one ear and a squeaking violin in the other, and he was not even the composer. He remembered having had to be hastily whisked away, with his head buried firmly in the sleeves of his mother’s dress. 

For him, by far the most distressing part was the lack of consistency: was it the colour yellow, or the eccentric shape of a pineapple…he could never predict what could and would trigger the cacophony of phantom sounds in his ear. His doctors all say they are phantom, but they seem pretty real to him. 

_But who is he to say what is real or not._

It is night time again; he did appreciate the fact that night always came in cycles… and after that the day would dawn again. The bedroom window was ajar. A small breeze sneaked its way sporadically into the bedroom. Loud drum beats — featuring bongos of some kind, were looping at full volume through the speakers on his desk. 

Some might say it is a rather strange choice of music for a boy of barely seven. Ethan lay face down on his bed, his dinner on a plate nearby, quite untouched. Earlier that evening, his parents had tiptoed past his bedroom, first his mother, then his father, then his mother again, peeping through the locked door, imploring their precious child to take a bite out of his long forgotten dinner.

On the menu tonight were tasty fishcakes with brilliant red tomato sauce, again. While he appreciated the regularity, he could barely look down at the plate without getting a ringing tinnitus in his head. 

Or at least that’s what the doctors had called it when they converged around his hospital bed, poking and prodding at him with stethoscopes and clipboards as if he were a non-expensive museum exhibit.

He reasoned that if he simply didn’t look at anything, all would be calm, and all would be predictable. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, and his tiny fist up into a determined ball, and inhaled the soothing odours of his monochrome bedsheets. For a moment it seemed to work, and he was left alone at last to his own thoughts!

Suddenly he heard a strange whirling sound, oscillating near and far, soft and loud, then closer and louder still. If sirens could talk, this is probably what it would sound like. Confused, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked all around his room.

He was shocked to see an ethereal blue light, and what appeared to be a large cupboard?

********

“Drums eh? You know a friend of mine used to be a great fan of them — but then he went a bit mad after that…” Reflected the Doctor, leaning against the wooden frame of the Tardis, right in front of the poor unsuspecting boy.

“… so mind you don’t listen to too much of that!” Advised the tall handsome alien who had just materialised in Ethan’s bedroom.

Once in a while, the Tardis would point the Doctor to some poor soul who was in need of help and losing his way, and on this occasion no doubt it was a not unwelcomed distraction to the thankless task of guarding that troublesome vault inhabitant for another couple thousand years. 

Instinctively, Ethan tries to run away. The Doctor follows him, as best he could. 

_Not really fair this, playing hide and seek with a two thousand year old blind man… he grumbled._

Small children tended to be extraordinarily perceptive, and this one was no exception. Ethan was proceeding swiftly towards his preferred hiding place under the bed when he observed something slightly off in the Doctor’s gait.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” He asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Oh, just an accident.” Said the Doctor dryly, wagging a finger in the general direction of Ethan’s bed. “which is why, Ethan, you should always wear your helmet!” 

“…but how do you know my name?” He ventured hesitantly, having decided that that particular question (out of perhaps about half a dozen at this point), to be the most pressing.

“ 'Cos _I know_ lots of things.” Answered the Doctor. “And I know you’ll like this — come on, take my hand, I’ll show you something.”

 

********

He actually rode a spaceship into space, not bad for a boy of seven, Ethan thought proudly to himself.

They were stood on the precipice of the Tardis, double doors swinging wide open, looking out into the expanse of space. Nervously, Ethan stared at the explosion of colours before him, expecting at any moment now to be engulfed by shrill voices and a thousand jarring sounds. 

But he waited and nothing came. He opened his eyes wider, assimilating the vision before him in large disbelieving gulps. 

Still nothing. 

Absolute calm and serenity.

“It’s the birth of worlds, a nursery if you like, and we’re staring deep into its throat.” The Doctor said, digging deeper into his sizeable memory in search of the right words. 

“You see the wispy edges, that’s the stuff of space.” He paused at last word, savouring that delightful sound as it lingered on the tip of his tongue. 

“You’re the conduit Ethan, for the sounds and voices you hear, it’s them, it’s the songs of those beautiful, forgotten, ancient civilisations down there, observing and admiring the ways of Earth through your eyes. You know, they always have to choose a child, because a Child’s vision is still so pure, so unadulterated…and not yet shaped nor poisoned by beliefs…”

“Everything, ” Said the Doctor, with a tinge of nostalgia in his tone: “ …is exactly as it _looks._ ”

“Embrace it Ethan, don’t try to fight it… and in time, you will understand the voices. Welcome them into your life, show them, if you can, all the sights and visions that define all that is precious and good about Humanity…”

They sat in a comfortable, and perhaps rare, silence.

The Doctor turned searchingly in Ethan’s general direction, and was surprised to find himself suddenly enveloped in a warm, sticky, knee-height embrace. 

He looked down with sightless Timelord eyes at the young Earth boy tugging at his velvety cuffs, and grinned from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every outing in the Tardis has to be a dangerous adventure right? 
> 
> Just slowing things down a little before the next episode arrives...
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: It was very helpfully pointed out to me that Ethan's condition could be interpreted as being related to a real-life neurological condition called [Synesthesia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia), in which stimulation of one sense could trigger an involuntary response or feeling in another.


	5. Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By now, whenever they did meet they didn’t bother asking each other where they were in their respective timelines anymore; it was just too time-consuming and irrelevant. What matters simply was that they could be together, in this moment, intersecting in both space and in time.
> 
> He actually _smelled_ her before he felt the vibration of her footsteps through the infrastructure.
> 
> Best face upward, he tilted his head towards her and grinned toothily. “Why _Professor Song_ , you look amazing tonight…”

Nervously, the Doctor fiddled with his frilly purple necktie as he waited for her to arrive. In all honesty he needn’t have bothered, for right now he looked perfectly impeccable. The dark suit, the sharply turned collar buttoned up to the very top, and the angular, extended shirt cuffs snaking across his pale slender fingers — he’d chosen a red shirt this time, for to his immense chagrin his favourite holey jumper was finally falling apart at the seams.

Admittedly the hair he was sporting on his head was a great deal fluffier and angrier than he imagined she’d seen him before, but on the other hand he did recall with not a little bemusement that running her fingers through the well-aligned grey floof has been known to give her untold pleasure in the past…

He’d asked for and was granted the best seat in the restaurant, and the best restaurant in this Quadrant in fact. From their vantage point by the window, the best view of the sunset peeling down the horizon.

If only he could still appreciate it.

The remnants of light shone through the panes, checkering the small table into alternating regions of light and shade. The Doctor immersed himself in the shadow, and kept his head down. Lost in thought, he slid his thumb and forefinger slowly around outline of the sonic shades he kept in his pocket. 

By now, whenever they did meet they didn’t bother asking each other where they were in their respective timelines anymore; it was just too time-consuming and irrelevant. What matters simply was that they could be together, in this moment, intersecting in both space and in time.

He actually _smelled_ her before he felt the vibration of her footsteps through the infrastructure.

Best face upward, he tilted his head towards her and grinned toothily. “Why _Professor Song_ , you look amazing tonight…” 

“I know…” Admitted River, blowing a kiss in his direction: “And you’re not too bad yourself!”

 _Right, where’s that menu._ He latched on to the leather-bound booklet and opened it up, hoping he hadn’t managed to turn it upside down. He ran his fingers searchingly along the small indentations where the tiny inkjet blots had made their mark on the page, but the lettering was too faint to distinguish even with his heightened senses.

“What are we having?” Asked River, enthusiastically.

“Well, I’ll have two of whatever you’re having!” Said the Doctor, snapping shut his copy of the menu defiantly, and rubbing his bony hands together. His golden ring glinting in the orange light of the setting rays.

It wasn’t until the dessert course that he’d finally given himself away ( _Fruit pudding with elderflower jelly and Greek yoghurt ice cream, washed down with Semillon ’15…_ ): his napkin took off over the edge of the table when a gust of wind had penetrated through the open window, and drifted slowly to the floor. Instinctively, he had bent down attempting in vain to relocate it.

“Doctor?” Said River, leaning over hurriedly to his side with a growing sense of dread. “Oh Sweetie… you can’t see can you? What happened to you?” 

“er… I was just, helping out a friend.” Said the Doctor, straightening back up. And he was drowned a full River-style bearhug before he had had time to protest that he was not the hugging kind…

_Oh hell who am I kidding, I really needed that._

He told her about Bill, and what wonderful progress he thought she was making…he elaborated at length on how ingenious he had been to have figured out how to access the deadlock on the vault, and eventually he told her about the suits of Chasm Forge. River listened quietly; she realised he couldn’t even see the tears sliding down her cheeks, and so made no attempt to disguise it. And that very thought just made her cry even more.

Later, she led him out through the garden at the back. They skitted around the snow, and rolled around deliriously slugging giant wet snowballs at each other as if they were still schoolchildren. By now they’d each had several glasses of port too many and darkness was rapidly descending… so now they even had matching excuses for every bad aim.

********

They were still, laying side by side on the snow, hot, flustered, and radiant. Feeling the symmetrical snowflakes, melting into tiny icy droplets as they fell softly onto their faces. They lay there listening, forming deeper indentations as their bodies melted the snow, listening to a familiar song — their song, that was reverberating into the distance…

Realising something, River snuck up closer to her Doctor… “But what will you do?” She asked, running her fingers delicately across his attack eyebrows. 

“What I’ve always done… just being the Doctor.” He replied with a sigh, opening his eyes, he looked up at the infinite darkness towering above him.

********

Suddenly there was a loud knocking outside. The singing stopped dead, and he could no longer feel her warm wet breath on his chest.

Indignantly, he lifted himself up to an upright position. 

_Oh you stupid stupid time machine, why cut the simulation now!_

_Hope she’s at least got the good sense to save it to disk…_

_This had better be someone important…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Since they mentioned it explicitly in episode 6: extremis, the Holodeck concept must be canon Doctor Who… so of course he would try to bring River back once in a while...
> 
> 2\. Inspired after watching “Husbands of River Song” again.


	6. Saviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __  
> No time to think about that now.
> 
> _Time, time, time._
> 
> _Why was there was never enough of it…_
> 
> _How is it that seconds can feel like an eternity,_
> 
> _and twenty-four years like seconds?_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **How the events of "Episode 7: the pyramid at the end of the world" might have unfolded instead…**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Note canon-divergence: To be consistent with the preceding chapters, we’re also assuming in the following scene that Bill already knew about the Doctor’s blindness.
> 
> Warning: descriptions will get a little graphic.

_Two minutes._

He managed to start the countdown himself, hoping his unguided finger had pinpointed the correct position on the touchscreen. In his mind’s eye, he could already foresee the explosion. In precisely minute 55 seconds time, the interiors of the lab will be engulfed in a torrent of expanding flames; he couldn’t stop smiling to himself.

_Handsome, scary but nonetheless approachable alien from outer space that he was, saving the world (again) with his eyes shut._

He rushed back out through to the adjoining lab, probably not too much unlike _a penguin with his arse on fire._

The limited vision granted to him through the sonic shades showed him the direct path to the exit, he could already see the frame of the door, and now the outline of the door handles… not long to go now.

_But it was locked! He gave it another desperate tug._

_And another._

_Nope, definitely locked._

Outside in the main lab, Erica was busily barking the instructions to him, bewilderedly: “Just enter 3614 on the dial.” How hard can it be?

_Oh Erica, it can be almost impossible._

He looked down in vain at the lockpad, four neat, equidistant, but resolutely blank rectangular boxes, bordering where the four digits should be. Perhaps he could feel the numbers on the pad?

Nope, smooth as can be.

Desperately he reeled through his other options. 

“Nardole??!” He screamed down the comms, tapping the side of his shades. “I’ve got a camera on here, I need you to read these numbers for me!” 

_No answer. Where are you… you beautiful robot creature? Don’t let me down now! I’ll replace your lungs, I promise!_

_Or did something in fact happen to you??_

  
  
  


_No time to think about that now._

_Time, time, time._

_Why was there was never enough of it…_

_How is it that seconds can feel like an eternity,_

_and twenty-four years like seconds?  
_

  
  
  


While his inner voice was unhelpfully listing all the other attributes of Time, he could hear Bill’s anguish down the other line.

“Doctor? Doctor you’ve got to think of something, can you patch the camera on your sonic to my phone, to the internet, anything at all???” Bill was floundering, tears of anguish were about to break through the dam and her defences. 

_Please Doctor, please think of something… I should have gone with you to the lab, I should have been there, I should have been your eyes…_

_I can still be! You have to make it out of there…_

_I will never be able to live with myself, if you di…_

That was when the idea struck her. 

As she sprinted back to where the Monks were gathered, Bill could barely hear her impossibly brave Doctor on the line, trying to say his goodbyes. He had sounded surprisingly calm and composed, considering the fate that would soon befall him. There was a quiet, understated dignity in his last moments. Thousands of years worth of memories did not all come flooding past or rushing by; instead, he found himself frozen in an infinitesimal split of time, cocooned in a perfect, colourless tranquility, that was devoid of voices or senses… 

That was until the moment he realised what Bill had in mind.

“No no NO Bill, you CAN”T DO THIS…!” He cried out, his waning command falling on deaf ears. 

Inside his formidable brain, Gallifreyan neurons were spiking like never before, calculating, scheming, tunnelling through the multitudes of quantum pathways in his cortex, desperately trying to determine a plan. _A plan that would have to save him from inevitable destruction…_

_…AND prevent Bill from doing something she might later regret._

_Well that’s difficult. A task more challenging than the sum of its parts even. That must mean the odds of success have more than just halved…_

_In fact, maybe they are more like 1/5, or perhaps 2/11…_

_Oh shut up, brain!  
_

  
  
  


A pair of shades clattered to the ground with force.

Static.

Followed by an all-consuming explosion.

  
  
  


_  
Oh Doctor, stupid old man, you hang on in there…_ Bill had never prayed so ferociously in her life.

“Is your consent pure?” The Monks asked her. 

“You consent out of love. Love, is pure… “

Bill had heard the Monks say.

  
  
  


********

_Thankfully, the Tardis always took him to where he needed to go._

With a little inspired screwdriver trickery, amplified twenty-fold by the sheer strength of the psychic bond between the Doctor and his beloved Tardis, she had had him materialised out of there in the nick of Time itself. 

For theirs, was a bond that computed faster than any neurons of even Gallifreyan calibre.

  
  
  


********

Bill closed her eyes, feeling the Monk’s emaciated claws pressed relentlessly against her chest.

She was giving away the World. 

_It has to be worth it_ , she reasoned, _he’ll find a way to correct this. He just needs to be alive._

She could feel her own consciousness escaping from her, reality leaching out from where she stood; nothing made sense any more, language held no more meaning, and thoughts became a painful kaleidoscope of intertwined abstractions.

By then process had already begun.

  
  
  


Suddenly she was whisked away by a strong hand, and torn away with great haste from the grasp of the monks. 

Together, the Doctor and Bill stumbled back into the Tardis, leaving the exasperated monks trailing in their wake.

  
  
  


********

As the Tardis ripped through a rapidly imploding time vortex, desperately trying to comply with her Master’s commands this one last time, it was quite plain for all to see that all that remained was chaos.

Against the backdrop of the cloister bell tolling, Time, history and reality were disintegrating. 

Nardole lay unconscious on the floor, but the Doctor could not attend to him. 

By now Bill was lost to the world.

“Bill! Bill can you hear me!” The Doctor screamed. Not getting a response, he dropped down beside her in an instant, and drew his bleeding hands clumsily up to her face, tracing the curvature of her neck and up to her parted lips…

_Good, well at least there was a pulse._

He breathed a sigh of relief and leant back against the console cupping his head in his heads, transferring linear streaks of blood from his finger to his forehead. His right leg jutted out in front of him at a terrifying angle.

He stared forlornly out into the opaque abyss. 

_River..? River what do I do…_

_But how can I save the world, if I’m totally lost in the dark._

_I can’t do this. Not this time. Not by myself.  
_

  
  
  


********

The Tardis, bruised and broken, finally re-materialised back in the basement at the university. The doors flung wide open, and the Doctor emerged slowly, dragging his injured leg behind him. 

He collapsed, breathless, against the heavy metal casing of the Vault. 

Clawing repeatedly at the myriad Gallifreyan symbols inscribed on the door, he marvelled at their tactile design.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… good old Tardis to the rescue! 
> 
> But Missy next! Can’t wait to see what happens in Lie of the Land! :)


	7. See no evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here stands before him the one who had been called the Master, who had stared deep into the throat of the vortex and emerged with a unquenchable lust for power, who could inject fear into souls, dead or alive, for this time, and all times subsequent. 
> 
> And by her side stood this man whom Legends call the Doctor, who was, by all accounts, all at once the wind and the fire and the rain and the stars, who could vanquish civilisations without so much as a weapon, who could bring whole worlds to life at the power of a softly hinted suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which... there was no monk-based giving back of eyesight, nor a magical solution based on the power of love.

The Doctor listened intently for the familiar sequence of hisses and clicks as the locking mechanism finally yielded. There was a strange, expectant silence as the vault parted slowly and softly open. He ventured tentatively into the icy interiors of the prison, pulling himself forward one painful step after another, leaning heavily against the wall and any nearby furniture he could get his hands on. 

The Vault’s most infamous prisoner was sat sulking in her customary position in front of her grand piano, silently observing the apparition that had suddenly entered her cell. These days, Missy’s hair was a little wilder, and no amount of finger-twirling could tame those dark brown tresses. And anyway she didn’t even have a mirror to look into… though she didn’t doubt for one moment that if she had really wanted to, she would have been able to fashion something up that would function as well as a mirror, most probably from a pile of translucent, mottled leaves. Only problem is convincing the Doctor, or that creature with the egg-shaped head, to give her a supply of such leaves. 

She looked down inquisitively at this forlorn, injured figure who was labouring towards her. With a growing sense of alarm she noticed the way his unfocused eyes seemed to dart aimlessly around the room. 

Feigning a cough, she decided to help him out. 

“Missy…” Began the Doctor, turning now in her direction. “Missy I need your help… I need you to come with me…”

_At last!_

No second invitation needed! 

Missy leapt up gleefully and headed for the exit. In no time at all she was already outside the confines of those tiresome prison walls and enjoying the most exquisite view from the other side where they called freedom. That is, long before those pesky Monks had got here. 

_Why of course she knew about the monks, for nothing ever escapes the Missy Master._

“Well c’mon then, old man, we ain’t got all day…” 

She trailed off as she watched the Doctor groping his way unsteadily behind her, looking like he might topple over imminently. 

_Well that won’t do at all, she thought in exasperation._

Sighing, she retraced her steps back to his side so that she could prop him up and pull him along with her. Summoning her best governess voice, she instructed: “Look darling, things are obviously dire, or you wouldnae have come to me, so what say we get you back to your little box of a timespace ship as fast we can, eh?”

Any other time the Doctor would have undoubtedly protested, but right now, all he muster was a weak, resigned grumble. 

When they did make it back inside the Tardis, Missy immediately plonked him down onto the nearest chair where he could give a little respite to his damaged knee. Perched there helplessly, and quite restless, the Doctor did his best to explain to Missy the terrible fate that had once again befallen his favourite planet.

Missy was barely listening to him. Instead, she was surveying her new surroundings with disdain, bordering on disgust. Things have obviously gone a bit down hill, interior decor wise, since he’d stopped travelling with that short one with the radiant apple cheeks. It’s like a war-zone in here; slowly she took in the bits of broken console, and the small bursts of flame radiating sporadically from a bundle of tangled cabling. To be fair, she quite liked the look of the latter, though she surmised they were probably not intentional.

As the Doctor was painstakingly outlining the Monks’ whole “consent-based” philosophy for dictatorial governance, Missy bent down to prod the two unconscious figures lying sprawled across the floor.

“oooo Boss, what shall we do about these little pets of yours…” Missy asked innocently.

The Doctor seemed immediately more agitated.

“What do you call them again? _Assistants? Companions?_ Relax! Egghead here is definitely alive, and so’s the wee girrrrrl.” Declared Missy.

“They both need to rest, we’ll need to carry them to the medical bay.” Said the Doctor, attempting to get back on his feet. 

He felt something sharp jab him in the shoulder. Missy was pushing him back forcefully with some kind of rigid slender object.  
.  
“No Darling, I’ll do that, you should probably stay right where you are if you dinae wanna break anything else…” 

At this point the Doctor felt what he deduced to be an umbrella being thrust into his hand. 

“Here! you can borrow this for now, use it as a walking stick, or a lightsaber, or a golf club, whatever really, I do want it back later mind. See, I’ve even reprogrammed it, so it barks like a dog to warn you if you crash into things… _Like really._ ” 

Now where did she get that from, the Doctor muttered indignantly to himself. 

But out aloud, he said simply: 

“Second door on your right…”  
  
  


********

“When I tell you to, activate the amplifiers, got that?” Said Missy, shuffling out of the Tardis again.

The Doctor nodded. He sat white-knuckled, clutching Missy’s multifunctional umbrella in one hand, and an enormous red lever in the other, waiting impatiently for his moment to arrive. For longer than he’d care to remember or admit, his rightful place had always been out there, on the frontline, not back here hiding behind a screen, pulling levers that he could not even see.

In truth it had not taken too long for a pair of geniuses to put their heads together and come up with a grand plan for restoring world order.

  


… 

“We just need to program all that into the simulation as well, and project it from the source.”

“But we would need a pretty damn good amplifier though…, preferably a multi-dimensional one.”

“Surely the Tardis can do that.”

“Yes but the Tardis’ resources will be probably have to be diverted to sustaining the simulation itself… i mean just look at her, the poor girl.”

“Okay spoil-sport…but you’ve forgotten something as usual…”

“oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“Well Sleepyhead, why did you think the Monks built all those statues of themselves? I mean let’s face it, the wrinkly buggers could do with some face cream couldn’t they…”

“Yes, that’s it! We can give them a blast of their own medicine!”

…  
  
Mind games, was a genre that Missy could play with abandon till the end of time, and excel each time. The Monk with the most whimsical claw had just finished questioning whether or not she had power, and could exercise that power on behalf of the planet. He has just gotten to the point of verifying whether or not her consent was pure, when he was suddenly hit by a brainwave.

In fact, it was more like a torrent of brainwaves. 

In the overwhelming confusion he could distinctly hear the strange woman whom he had very recently established had all the power, shouting:

 

“NOW!”

_Whatever did she mean by that?_

All of a sudden the Most Clawful Monk was confronted with a terrifying abyss of colour and scenarios. There was a scenario that he had not foreseen in all their many careful simulations.

The Wrath of the Timelords…

…a union between the Doctor and the Master, and their friends returned from Gallifrey. 

Here stands before him the one who had been called the Master, who had stared deep into the throat of the vortex and emerged with a unquenchable lust for power, who could inject fear into souls, dead or alive, for this time, and all times subsequent. 

And by her side stood this man whom Legends call the Doctor, who was, by all accounts, all at once the wind and the fire and the rain and the stars, who could vanquish civilisations without so much as a weapon, who could bring whole worlds to life at the power of a softly hinted suggestion. 

They could not afford to take this risk. 

There will always be other civilisations to conquer, ones without protectors, ones without guardian angels…ones without devastating consequence.

After that, the Monk with the Claws had no time for other thoughts. 

For thereafter he found himself annihilated by Missy, made an example of, a martyr and a warning to the others, who turned to flee as fast as their scaly, emaciated limbs could transport them. They took themselves, and their pyramid, and receded rapidly away from Earth and into the nether regions of space. 

Inside, the monitor was still relaying images. Borne aloft, carried skywards by the turbulent gusts left in the wake of the Pyramid’s departure were the dusty, charred, remnants of the Mostly Clawed. Strips of orange satin waved ominously in the ashen sky above.

But the Doctor didn’t see it, for the Tardis was too busy projecting simulations to provide him with an audio description.

  
  


********

The 6 O’clock News continued to headline the isolated incident at Agrofuels, camera crews and politicians clambered over themselves, eager to catch a glimpse of the brave scientist called Erica who had apparently saved the world from certain doom. The rest of Humanity would continue to chomp absent-mindedly on Her lunchtime sandwich, and would be none the wiser.

“Did I not do good?” Asked Missy, batting her purple eyelids at the Doctor, before realising the gesture would be entirely wasted.

“Tell me I did good?” 

She looked at him again, more sincerely this time. “I get it, I get it, you still don’t trust me. _Why don’t you trust me?_ What do I need to do for you to trust me?” 

She put her gently hand over his. 

This time though, he didn’t flinch.

Without replying, the Doctor stared thoughtfully at the space just ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missy is getting more and more intriguing these days on the show, as is her dynamic with the Doctor, wonder how she will play off against Simm's master.


End file.
